Once upon a time, on a tree farm not so far away, there was a very beautiful Christmas tree. She grew alongside many rows of pines, firs, and spruce, some of whom were quite pleasing to look at, but she was the loveliest tree of them all, and she knew it.

The tree farmer, a quiet but kind man with a deeply-lined face and gentle eyes, saw how beautiful she was, as well. He had planted her, after all, and watched her grow from a tiny sprout to a spindly sapling. The farmer had nurtured her every step of the way, and now here she was: just the right height and perfectly plump, with majestic branches and radiant needles. Yes, she would make a fine Christmas tree for his family. His wife and four daughters would be so happy! He could picture it already, twinkly lights and treasured ornaments from years gone by adorning her, with the sweet angel from his own childhood presiding beneficently from the very top.

The beautiful Christmas tree was thrilled to be chosen out of all the rest for the farmer’s very own home! She stood up tall and stretched out her branches prettily, hoping to assure the farmer that he’d made the right choice!

The farmer looked closer. The gentle eyes furrowed in concern. The beautiful Christmas tree wiggled a bit. The farmer’s scrutiny was making her a little itchy. He suddenly reached out his gloved hand and plucked something small and wriggly from her trunk.

“Aphids!”,he exclaimed. And with that, the farmer turned on his heel, strode away towards the tractor, and was gone, leaving just a trail of smoke and a beautiful but sad tree all alone (well, alone with the aphids, which may have been causing the itchiness, now that she thought about it). The obvious dismay of the farmer and the way he’d quickly run away from her made it clear that she was no longer fit to be in his house this year. There would be no ornaments. No sweet and spicy fragrance of fresh-baked gingerbread wafting by and settling in her branches. No brightly-wrapped packages nestled snugly underneath. No. It would be the cold winter nights, alone. Or maybe she was destined for the woodpile. She couldn’t decide which was worse.

She scratched herself miserably, and little tears of sap quietly dripped down her trunk. She was worthless! Just worthless! Who would want an infested tree? Just then, she heard a noise! Why, it was the farmer returning!

He held not a saw; not an ax; but a spray bottle in his hand. And he proceeded to spray the beautiful, buggy Christmas tree from top to bottom. And it didn’t hurt a bit!

For the next week or so, the farmer would stop by and spray the tree several times a day with his concoction of dish soap, vegetable oil, and water. Was it her imagination, or was the itchiness was starting to diminish? Day by day, she felt a little bit better. One bright, cold morning, the farmer pulled up on his tractor and do you know what the tree saw? A saw!

Today was the day! Under the farmer’s love and care, the beautiful Christmas tree was free of harmful buggies, and she was ready to grace his family’s home and serve as their very own special tree!

It was a wonderful Christmas, after all, for everyone involved. The tree was decorated with twinkly lights and favorite ornaments with love and laughter by the warmth of a flickering fire in the hearth. Piles of gifts were carefully stacked in pleasing piles under her branches. And the farmer’s wife and four daughters proclaimed that she was the prettiest Christmas tree they’d ever had.

And, thanks to the farmer, she was.

The End